


The Show Must Go On

by Kato (WritersCoven)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Based somewhat on true events in the early 70s, Lots of Bri angst, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Mega Sickfic, The America Tour, Why is Bri's immune system shit?, he'll be okay, i think, it's fine though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersCoven/pseuds/Kato
Summary: Brian had been through hell. First, he nearly lost his arm. Then, he nearly lost his life. After he survived, he almost lost his liver. All the while, he bounced between high fevers and low temperatures, hot flashes and cold chills. Every bout brought crippling nausea, unbearable fatigue, horrid stiffness.~~Brian's sick. Again. As he struggles through his latest bout of illness, he reflects on the string of misfortune that he's had lately. What did he do that was so bad it incurred the wrath of God in misery of biblical proportions? Brian didn't know.





	1. Whatever Happens, I'll Leave It All To Chance

**Author's Note:**

> **Well, I've been toying with this idea for a while. Inspiration, however, came from the amazing Fanny Quicksilver. I did mention briefly in one of our comments threads that I would write this, dear. I hope you're reading it ;)**   
>  **And to anyone else reading it, I hope you enjoy ♥ Remember to comment and kudos!**
> 
> **Hey, this part of my little note is new! And it's going to be everywhere for a little while: Your beloved Kato was hacked darlings, multiple times! Her stuff was removed, even her pseud deleted, her passwords repeatedly changed. It's been a mess. Someone wants to shut me down! But we aren't going to let that happen, are we darlings? Nope! So,**   
>  **Enjoy the reupload! Kato out! xoxo**

Brian had been through hell. First, he nearly lost his arm. Then, he nearly lost his life. After he survived, he almost lost his liver. All the while, he bounced between high fevers and low temperatures, hot flashes and cold chills. Every bout brought crippling nausea, unbearable fatigue, horrid stiffness.

First was the gangrene. That had been one god-awful fright. They were in America, on tour, when Brian’s arm swelled up so bad he thought it could pop like a cartoon character’s. The skin became a mix of grotesque coloring ranging from black to brown to blue, all topped off by a yellow, oozing pus. It took both Roger and Freddie to calm him enough to get Brian to a hospital, and even then, he spent a majority of the time that he was awake sobbing. Sometimes, the tears had come out of pain, but mostly, it was fear. He wanted to go back home, to die in England. Somehow, the rest of the band had convinced him to stay on tour rather than go home; and so, as Brian was recovering, he promised Roger that he would continue with the tour.

Cue hellish night of horror number two. For this, Brian wholly blamed a drunken concert for triggering an already oncoming storm. Sure, it was inevitable in the end. It was entirely unavoidable by that point. Even so, regardless of what the doctors told him, Brian believed it was aggravated by enough alcohol to leave him reeling on the stage floor.

Either way, it had also come during the American tour. Brian had been exhausted, sluggish with heavy lethargy for quite some time, and the persistent stab of pain attacking him had been there for a while. In general, he had been feeling ill. A fact which he tried to tell multiple people before that night’s show. They either ignored him, or they shrugged it off. Even Roger-- his dear, loving Roger-- had pulled him in and kissed his forehead while assuring him that it was just a little cold, and that Brian was quite fine in fact. Even though things had not felt right at all, Brian believed this and went out on stage.

At points during the show, he had considered walking off stage. He knew that Freddie would have been pissed, and Roger and John would have been upset as well, but the pain had been steadily increasing to a point that Brian was close to not being able to handle. He wanted to stretch out somewhere, or curl up and cry. Whichever was needed.

Somehow, he had survived the show itself, but just barely. Not a few moments after stepping off stage, he ended up passing out. From this point, he had Roger’s full and devoted attention. Not too long after, he was back in the hospital, a living, breathing banana who just wanted to go back to England. Once again, crying that he was ready to go home and die. This time, nobody tried to convince him to keep up the rest of the tour.

That was what led Brian May to tonight. Event number three. The current disaster. He wasn’t quite sure what it was yet, but knowing his current streak, he knew that there was no way it would be anything less than a disaster worthy of hospitalization.

Head buried in the toilet bowl, retching up burning bile and acid from an otherwise empty stomach, he couldn’t help but muse over his shit luck lately. His entire body seemed to be failing him. He hardly got a break from it all before something else decided it was time to go wrong.

For Brian, it had become an exhausting routine. He wanted out of the loop. He wanted to break free from the cycle of illness and misery gripping him. He wanted to feel healthy and normal again, to be able to play again without needing to lie in bed and without hearing Roger screaming bloody murder at him until he put down the guitar and went back to sleep.

“Bri? You’re sick _again?_ ” Roger asked, walking into the bathroom.

And Brian couldn’t help but agree with that tone in his voice. Because yes, he was in fact sick once again. Actually, this had been the third time in the past hour that Brian had had to crawl out of his safe cover confinement and dash into the bathroom, hardly making it in time to spill his guts-- or, rather, lack thereof. He laid his cheek against the cool bowl and shut his eyes, his breathing labored with the exertion of heaving absolutely nothing but acid.

Roger knelt down next to him and began to rub soft circles into the brunette’s back. Brian cracked one eye open and glanced up at the blond, trying to get the point across that he felt absolutely miserable. It must have been communicated, because Roger slid his hands under the older man’s arms and eased him up onto shaky, unsteady legs. “Let’s get back to bed, love.”

Brian nodded and let himself be guided to the large mattress, where he flopped down face-first into the pile of blankets and pulled himself into a messy nest. Roger didn’t waste a moment yanking away these covers and making sure Brian did not grab them once again. “You can’t be covered up if you’re sick.”

“Thought you loved me,” Brian whined.

“I do,” Roger answered, sitting on the bed next to him and gently easing the poodle into his lap. He ran his fingers through Brian’s tangled curls. “That’s why I’m not going to let you have any covers right now.”

“God. I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” Roger assured, but Brian shook his head firmly.

“Think about it, Rog. Gangrene, hepatitis? Now some mysterious illness that has decided I need to be in constant abdominal pain _and_ I can’t put anything inside of my stomach, period. I have to be dying. That’s the only explanation.”

“You’re not dying. You’re just under the weather.”

“I’ve been under the weather forever.”

“It’s only been a few months, dear.”

“Feels like forever,” Brian coughed, quickly pulling himself up and leaning over the side of the bed with his palms pressing into Roger’s lower thighs. Saliva dripped from his lips, and Roger was prepared to grab the nearby trash can, but nothing came. Instead, Brian collapsed against his boyfriend and moaned. “Heaven help me, I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Bri. If I had a penny for every time you’ve said that this year.”

“To be fair,” Brian pointed out, “I could have died in any of the given scenarios.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

“Again, you didn’t.”

“Not the point.”

Brian sighed, rolling over in Roger’s lap, and shut his eyes. His stomach still ached, but it was a dull and somewhat more gentle ache than it had previously been. He was beyond exhausted. There was no word left in the human dictionary to describe the full extent of exhausted Brian was.

Roger twisted his finger into one of the spirals previously resting on his boyfriend’s forehead. “Do you remember saying that?” he asked.

Brian nodded. “I remember a lot of it. All of it.”

“You do?”

_Yes, Brian did. How could he forget almost dying? How could he forget any of that?_ He shut his eyes, yawned loudly, and curled up slightly around Roger’s form, begging for sleep to take him. It would come quickly in his current, sickly state.

He did recall, though, both previous episodes-- in almost perfect detail, too, all things considered. He recalled the doctors, the fevers, and Roger. Always Roger, at his side, ensuring that Brian knew just how loved he was.

_Roger never left him. Roger would never leave him._

Whatever was wrong this time, Brian could survive it. He just knew he could, because he had Roger Taylor at his side. With his boyfriend, Brian could handle anything.

Drifting into a fitful, sick doze, he thought about exactly that. He recalled the previous sicknesses and considered what would happen to him with this most recent illness. It would be nothing that he couldn’t handle. After all, he handled gangrene _and_ hepatitis.

_What could be worse?_


	2. Friends Will Be Friends...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _First was the gangrene. That had been one god-awful fright. They were in America, on tour, when Brian’s arm swelled up so bad he thought it could pop like a cartoon character’s. The skin became a mix of grotesque coloring ranging from black to brown to blue, all topped off by a yellow, oozing pus. It took both Roger and Freddie to calm him enough to get Brian to a hospital, and even then, he spent a majority of the time that he was awake sobbing. Sometimes, the tears had come out of pain, but mostly, it was fear. He wanted to go back home, to die in England. Somehow, the rest of the band had convinced him to stay on tour rather than go home; and so, as Brian was recovering, he promised Roger that he would continue with the tour._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hope everyone is at least a little interested in this. I'm still thinking about how I'm breaking it up, but it's certainly going to be a hefty amount of content.**   
>  ****  
> _Because you totally needed another chapter story, Kato._  
>    
>  **You know what, loves? I did. So. Take that. Mfph.**   
>  **Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, darlings. Remember to comment and kudos ♥**

When Brian woke up, he wasn’t sure at first what was wrong. He knew there had to be _something._ He could feel it, deep inside of him, but he had no idea what it was. He was hot and sore, that much he was slowly becoming aware of, but the details felt fuzzy. He couldn’t figure out _why_ he was sore.

In the span of an instant, he went from uncomfortable to ill. He tossed the blanket he had over himself off and sat up, his stomach flopping. He had barely gotten onto his feet when his stomach lurched, leaving him retching.

In his fuzzy, heavy mind, Brian’s thoughts were sluggish and confused. His reflexes were even slower. Luckily, while Roger and John were out at one of the local bars of the town they had stopped in, Freddie had decided to stay. There hadn’t been any real reason, Freddie just-- for once-- didn’t feel like going out. This ended up being fantastic for Brian, as Freddie was quick to grab the other man by the abdomen and thrust him into the bathroom.

Brian was too focused on his stomach to notice the pain in his arm, but Freddie didn’t miss the cause of that pain. “Bri, darling?” he asked, eyes wide.

At first, Brian was worried he caught a bug from one of the previous shows. His biggest concern was having to recover before the next show. He shivered over the toilet bowl and looked up at Freddie. That was when it occurred to him that it might not be so simple as a flu.

Freddie sat down next to Brian and eased the poodle into a reclining position. “Darling, what’s wrong with your arm?”

For a moment, Brian was confused. Sure, his arm was a little sore, but he probably just slept on it wrong. He expected to find red lines from sleep when he glanced over at it. He was not prepared for what he saw.

The appearance alone sent Brian scrambling back up, a fresh wave of nausea washing over him as panic gripped his chest. _His arm was huge._ The swollen skin resembled a giant bruise, with blacks and blues and dots of red and yellow splattered all around the skin. In what must have been the center of this infection was a gaping, bright red ulcer, oozing a translucent, yellow-tinted liquid.

“God…” Brian breathed, retching. A thin trail of liquid dripped from his lips. Screwing his eyes shut, he hoped that it was all just a hideous nightmare. He prayed that it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Darling, I think we need to go to the hospital,” prompted Freddie, placing his hands on Brian’s shoulders. He was especially mindful of the swollen arm.

Brian shook his head furiously. “No, no hospital.” He still wouldn’t open his eyes.

“Look at yourself, dear,” Freddie responded.

But Brian was adamant. “Not going to the hospital, Fred.”

By some miracle of timing, this was when Roger and John walked in. Far from anything remotely sober, they both stumbled around, groping in the darkness of the hotel room. Roger was near to passing out when Freddie stood up, walked to the doorway of the bathroom, and called, “Rog, darling, you’re needed.”

“For?” Roger asked, and everyone could hear the slight slur in his words. Brian curled up against the bathroom wall, his head turned away from the swollen, infected mess, and whined deep in his throat. He wanted his boyfriend.

Roger heard the noise, but his foggy brain didn’t register at first that it was Brian. That didn’t register until Freddie answered, “There’s a situation you should be aware of, dear.”

“Who’s in there?” Roger asked, his eyes flickering towards the dark silhouette inside.

“I think you already know, darling.”

Immediately, Roger pushed past Freddie into the room. For a moment, he stood in the doorway himself, jaw slack with shock. “What the hell is wrong with him?” he asked, then knelt down in front of Brian. Cupping the poodle’s cheek, he softly pressed, “Bri, what happened?”

Brian blinked at the blond. _How the hell was he supposed to know? One minute he was fine, and the next, he was puking his guts up and dragging around a swollen arm._ “Think I’m sick?”

“You think?”

Brian sat forward, leaning into Roger. “Something’s wrong with my arm.”

“I can see that.” Roger brushed his thumb over Brian’s cheek. “How about a trip to the hospital?”

Brian shook his head. Freddie stepped up and sighed. “You’ve got to go, darling. Do you want your arm to fall off?”

“My arm isn’t going to fall off.”

Freddie turned to Roger, mouthing, “Ambulance.” Roger nodded, shoving himself back to his feet. He was a little rocky, but he managed it. Brian turned to look up at him in confusion, but before he could ask, Roger was gone.

While Roger was calling the hospital, Freddie crouched down with Brian and ran his fingers through the other man’s curls. “God, it hurts Fred,” Brian moaned.

_“What’s the fucking emergency number here?”_ Roger screamed.

Brian’s eyes snapped towards the door. “I’m not going to the doctor.”

_“Nine-one-one?”_ John answered, his tone more a question than anything.

“You haven’t got a choice, love,” Freddie responded, continuing to play with Brian’s curls. They could both hear Roger on the phone, explaining the situation. Brian coughed, leaning into the wall for support. He was starting to lose consciousness, much to Freddie’s concern. “Try and stay awake, Bri.”

“Too tired. Everything hurts.”

Roger stepped back into the room, frazzled and out of breath. “They’re on their way,” he said, settling next to his boyfriend on the floor. “How’s he doing?”

“Tired. Pain. Sleep.”

“Bad enough he can’t remember how to do proper sentences, apparently,” Freddie frowned.

Roger kissed Brian’s cheek and whispered, “Hang in there, love. You’ll be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, that felt like a good cut-off point. Poor Bri!**   
>  **Thanks for reading, lovies, and I hope you enjoyed! Remember to comment and kudos ♥♥**   
>  ****  
> _Thoughts? About anything?_  
> 


	3. All You Do Is Live, All I Do Is Die…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hey guys! An update, back from the dead!**   
>  **Sorry it's not the greatest. I'm really trying to get back in the swing of writing again ♥**   
>  **I hope you enjoy it loves ♥**

It was still dark outside when Brian decided to drag himself out of bed and crawl away onto the sofa in the living room, away from Roger. Something inside of his fuzzy mind insisted that, just in case he had yet another contagious infection, he needed to keep himself fairly isolated from his love. So, while the blond was dozing on the comfortable mattress, Brian stumbled around gathering blankets and a pillow to make himself comfortable on the couch. 

Once he had the primary aspects of a real bed, he collapsed against the semi-soft cushions and stretched himself out, only to roll over and curl in on himself moments later. His stomach hurt too much to _not_ be curled up, and the nausea that had attacked him earlier was now burning once more in the back of his throat, threatening to overtake him if he so much as hiccuped. 

Resting against the worn out pillow, his mind sluggish with exhaustion and yet racing too fast for sleep, Brian watched the shadows flickering in from the window as they danced across the floor. It was supposed to have been a good night outside, and the stars were probably out right then, but he was far too sick to care. That fact also bothered the man greatly, because he had never before stopped caring about the stars. Not even when he was trapped in the hospital. Their bright twinkle had always been a positive thought to keep him pushing, but even this was beginning to dim. It was hard to enjoy something when he was suspended in a constant, miserable state of sheer agony. 

Something new moved into the weaving path of the shadows, something that hadn’t been a part of their routine earlier. This caught Brian’s sleep-deprived brain, and his eyes snapped up towards the foreign silhouette. Standing in the hallway was Roger, looking weary and concerned. He didn’t speak at first, and neither did Brian. They just stared at one another, accepting the current situation. Finally, Roger spoke up. 

“So, you’re real bad off aren’t you?” 

He was already moving closer to Brian as the man nodded. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, Roger stroked his boyfriend’s dark curls and sighed. “We could always go back to the doctor again.” 

“Fred would kill me if I ended up back in the hospital. We’re already behind.” 

Roger shrugged. “He’ll deal. Your health comes first.” 

“It’s probably just a really bad flu.” Brian didn’t even believe himself, and he knew that Roger was equally unimpressed by the suggestion. “Give it a few days, it’ll be fine.” 

Roger frowned, his fingers sliding over Brian’s cool forehead. “You’re not running a fever. What hurts?” 

“Stomach,” answered the poodle. He stretched his legs out and bent his arms back, wrapping them around his pillow while his boyfriend continued to stroke his head. He shut his eyes and yawned. 

Roger’s frown deepened. “You haven’t been sleeping well have you?” he asked. 

“Would you, after everything?” countered the poodle. 

With a sigh, Roger lowered himself down onto the couch itself and pulled Brian’s body up so that the man was resting in his lap instead. There was another moment’s silence, during which Brian fought himself to stay awake and at least somewhat alert. Finally, Roger’s voice again filled his ears. “You know, I was so scared I was going to lose you. I had nightmares every night. And whenever I had to go record, all I could think about was how you were doing and if you needed me. Sometimes, I still dream about it. But that’s a part of life.” 

“Deep, Roger.” 

“Hey,” scowled the blond. “I’m being serious. You have to accept that, and not let it control you.” 

“I don’t even know what I’m afraid of,” Brian sighed. Roger had stopped petting him, and he leaned closer for more contact. “Just the idea of it happening again, maybe.” 

“It won’t,” reassured Roger. “And if it does, I’ll be right here. It’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah…” Brian muttered. A fuzzy haze clouded his eyes, his thoughts-- tired and half-there as it was-- beginning to muddle together. He needed sleep, and he was thirsty. He was probably hungry too, but food was impossible for his stomach right now. It was a familiar type of fuzzy feeling, the type of feeling that Brian had had twice before. Something bad was starting to happen, he could feel it. Things were starting all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, there it is. Sorry it's both short and bad ♥**   
>  **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed ♥ Don't forget darlings: Comment and kudos ♥**

**Author's Note:**

> **This is very much an intro chapter. There's going to be some features of his previous illness, and some focus on what's going on right now. If you know Brian's history during this particular time, you already know what's wrong. And since you're reading this, there's a fair chance you know this history.**   
>  **Thank you so much for reading, and remember to comment and kudos! Especially if you have any particular thoughts regarding it. I love to hear back from you darlings ♥**
> 
> **Hey, this part of my little note is new! And it's going to be everywhere for a little while: Your beloved Kato was hacked darlings, multiple times! Her stuff was removed, even her pseud deleted, her passwords repeatedly changed. It's been a mess. Someone wants to shut me down! But we aren't going to let that happen, are we darlings? Nope! So,**   
>  **Enjoy the reupload! Kato out! xoxo**


End file.
